Harry Potter is Undercover
by Shimmergloom
Summary: One shot, less than 2,000 words.


Harry Potter is undercover.

After Lord Voldemort- people don't have to fear his name anymore- died, things started to settle down. He got his job at the Ministry of Magic, got promoted within a year, then got promoted again. He decided to do what he knows he is the best at: protecting the world from dark forces.

Nobody argued.

For awhile he hadn't much work to do. Old followers of Voldemort were either arrested, dead, or so far into hiding that they would never return. He took some time enjoying the celebrity status, took lots of time with Ginny, and started building a good foundation on which to build a family.

Then whispers started. Only from the corners of forgotten places, at first, then they grew. Whispers got carried onto trains, passed along the breeze, muttered maybe by the creatures that don't like being found. Something was coming. Harry knew, of course, that this something would be wicked.

Nobody argued.

Harry did some detective work and got a lead: A dark wizard was rising. But, seeing as Harry was arguably the most powerful wizard in the world, this dark wizard wanted to stay in hiding. In the muggle world. Harry knew he was the best person for the job, and went deep undercover. Polyjuice potion so his face isn't recognizable, an airtight backstory, and the moxy to bring the dark wizard to justice

Nobody argued.

Harry Potter, for the moment, is Donald Hornsborough. Donald Hornsborough works in the mailing department for a fortune 500 company. It might not sound glamorous, but the mailing department sees everything. If there was a place for the dark wizard to hide, Harry would eventually be able to find it.

Nobody argued.

He's spend two months working the beat, surveying the shadows, taking notes. He has narrowed the list to four suspects and is about to start...getting up close and personal, you might say.

It's still the middle of the day, right now. He'll get to his real work tonight. Harry smiles, eyeing his comrade near him and measuring him up and down. Andrew Brights is, contrary to his name, not actually so very bright. They go get a beer every now and then, talk about girls. Harry has told him about Ginny, except he's using the code name "Naomi". He's told Andrew the bare details of their wedding, what she's doing now (in muggle terms, of course) and what might come for the future. Andrew then always offers a smoke and proclaims that he shall never get married.

"Hey, Donald!" Margaret calls from the other end of the mail room.

"Yeah?"

"You got a post." She says, holding up the envelope. Harry smiles, thinking about his owl. Muggle mail is slow and impersonal, but for his undercover purposes, it is perfect. He walks over to her and winks, she blushes.

"Thanks, love." He says, opening the letter. It's from Hermione. Harry realized that he was going to need help when he took on this operation. Who better than the smartest girl he knows.

"Meet me at midnight, you know where." It says in her lovely script. He sniffs the paper, sometimes she puts on perfume. Not because she romantically likes him, but because they give the words more life. The more life the words have, the more like magic they are. It's something he looks forward to in the undercover world when it grows weary.

He looks back at Margaret and smiles again. She giggles and walks away, swaying her hips more than was necessary. Harry thinks about Phillipe, his number one suspect. Phillipe is meeting his fiancee, or alleged fiancee, tonight for a movie. Knowing Phillip, it won't be *just* a movie.

Harry can wait until tomorrow night to investigate. He can't risk sending Hermione a note to reschedule, anyway. He stuffs the letter into his pocket and returns to the mail.

At midnight promptly, he strolls into the park. The wind is brisk and his long jacket swirls behind him. He cuts an impressive figure in the night, and he knows it. Hermione is sitting at the stone table she always is. Her hair is pulled back, her fedora is low on her head. She's wearing lips stick and shadow that make her look nearly as delicious as Ginny.

Nearly. Nobody honestly will ever be more beautiful than Ginny.

"Good to see you, Harry. Have a seat." She smiles and recrosses her legs. He obliges and sits down neatly across from her.

"Donald, Hermione, keep to the code names."

"Sorry." She says, making a scribble in her note book.

"Don't worry about it. Nobody followed me. There was this one guy, but I lost him down at Bellaruse." Hermione purses her lips. "Relax, I handled it."

"Harry-"

"Donald."

"Look, we need to talk. You are working in a mail room, now, yes?"

"I know it isn't pretty, but I am getting close. I can taste it. Phillpe is my number one guess, but I, uh, need to follow up some more leads. I might even get him to incriminate himself, see?"

"But Harry-"

"-Donald-" She ignores him.

"I think we were making progress."

"'Were'? Still are, Hermione, you can trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Come on, you know me. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Harry, I _do _know you. That's the problem."

"That's why you're helping me."

"Then let me help you." She leans forward, putting her elbows on the table and an earnest expression on her face. He matches her pose, become worried that she's having her moments of self doubt again.

"You are! What would I do without your potions? Your insights? You're brilliant, Hermione, you always have been." He smiles his most convincing smile, the one that nearly got him in a lot of trouble with Ron. "You are brilliant. If it weren't for your potions, I wouldn't be able to pull off Donald, which means I wouldn't be able to bring down the dark wizard. You're a hero, Hermione. You really are."

"If you catch this one, will you stop chasing them? You don't need to. You can relax, now."

"Of course I have to chase them. I am the best there is, I'm the chosen one. I know you don't like it, but it's the truth. I brought down Voldemorte, I'll be able to stop this one before he even gets rolling." He sits back and crosses his arms under his chest and puts his best "I got this" face on. He's got this, he knows he does.

Dr. Granger smiles and sighs slowly. She opens Harry's folder again and writes some more notes.

"Okay, Harry-"

"-_Donald-_" He cocks his lips to the side of his face in exasperation. "Donald."

"Okay, Donald." She pushes the medicine for his schizophrenia across the table to him.

"What's that?"

"That's your polyjuice potion, Harry." She says. Harrys takes the medicine and swallows it down in one swig.

"Thanks Hermione. You're the best, I could never do this without you." With that he stands, wraps his bathrobe around him against the slight chill of the a/c, and walks out.

He gets as far as the bathroom before he is violently sick. All over the floor.

"Oh no," he thinks, wondering if being sick would have a negative effect of the potion. He then stares at himself in the mirror, "Oh, good. The polyjuice is still working." Donald Hornsborough wasn't a terribly attractive man, not as attractive as Harry, but he will do until Harry can break cover and become his normal self again. When he catches the new dark wizard.

And the one after that.


End file.
